


Tattooed

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Series: Dean Winchester and Donna Hanscum [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 14:38:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8289343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: Dean wants Donna to get an anti-possession tattoo.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written SPN Kink Bingo  
> Square Filled: Tattoos

 

Dean waited to broach the subject, even though it had been on his mind for a while, even before the Djinn attack, waited until he was sure she was completely healed and he was sure he could argue his points logically. Because he knew she would argue.

It had been a couple of weeks since he’d last seen her; too many hunts and not enough hours in the day. There always seemed to be something getting in the way, something keeping them apart. As soon as he got a chance, he left Sam to his research in the bunker and took off for Donna’s. 

They were sitting on her couch, side by side, Donna tucked under his arm, one of her favorite movies playing on the television across the room, when he finally brought it up. Her reaction was exactly what he’d expected. 

“I’m not getting a stinkin’ tattoo, Dean,” Donna pouted after he told her what he’d been thinking. “Besides, why would a demon come after me? I’m just a small town sheriff, not important to anybody.”

Dean sighed. “You’re important to me, Donna.”

Her cheeks turned crimson and she immediately found something very interesting in her lap where her hands lay, twisting nervously together. She gnawed at her lower lip and shook her head.

“Besides, we already know that the monsters are willing to come after you.” He brushed the tips of his fingers over the faint scar on her forehead, just at the edge of her hairline.

She pushed his hand away. “We don’t know that was because of you,” she protested.

“And we don’t know that it wasn’t,” he added. He sat forward, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Look, the more people that know about us - Sam, Jody, Cas, other hunters - the more word spreads about my...uh…” He cleared his throat and shifted nervously. “My...uh...feelings for you, the greater the chances of some goddamn monster using you against me.” He visibly shuddered and dragged in a ragged breath, blowing it out slowly. “It’ll keep you safe from demons and I won’t worry as much when you’re away from me.” He turned to look at her, emerald green eyes imploring chocolate brown ones to understand.

Donna put a hand on his arm, stopping him. The silence in the room was suffocating as the implications of what Dean was saying sank in, weighing on both of them. She took a deep breath and squeezed his bicep.

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

* * *

Another month passed, a month in which he was unable to see Donna thanks to a werewolf in Missouri, two rugarus in Georgia and a nest of vamps in Arkansas. He took off for Minnesota the minute he got some breathing room, intent on getting Donna that tattoo. He even made some calls before he left, trying to find a place that could do the work.

It was late when he finally got to her place, nearly midnight. He figured he’d use the key under the mat, let himself in, crash on the couch. He’d done it before. 

Except Donna opened the door while he was kneeling on the porch, one corner of the mat lifted up, his fingers on the key. He rose to his feet and leaned against the doorjamb.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he smiled.

“Hi yourself,” she replied, blushing. “You comin’ in or standin’ out there all night?”

“Coming in, of course,” Dean chuckled, reaching out and taking Donna’s hand in his, He squeezed her fingers and tugged, pulling her into his arms. She smiled up at him, that same shy smile she always gave him, but this time it seemed like it she was even more shy than usual. He always got the feeling that she didn’t feel like she was good enough for him, even though he was the one not good enough for her. He just wished she knew that. He tried to kiss her, but she pulled away.

He followed her into the house, her fingers loosely intertwined with his. He dropped to the couch, tried to pull her down beside him, but she she let go of his hand.

“You...um...,you want a beer?” she asked.

“Yeah, sure,” he nodded. She was almost to the kitchen when he called her name. “Donna! You okay?”

She stopped, but didn’t turn around. “Oh, yeah, I’m just peachy.” She disappeared into the kitchen, returned a couple of seconds later, open beer in her hand, and handed it to Dean. She sat down beside him, tentative, nervous, unsure of herself.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Donna sighed heavily and leaned back, balancing herself on one elbow while she yanked up her shirt. Just beneath her breasts, drawn across her ribs, was an anti-possession tattoo.

Dean set his beer on the small coffee table in front of the sofa and dropped to his knees between Donna’s legs. He reached out and ran two fingers over the circle surrounding the pentagram, then he traced the words written beneath it.  

“Custodiet a malo,” he murmured. “Protect me from evil.” He glanced up at her, his eyes flashing. “You got it? Why didn’t you tell me?”

She raised one shoulder in a hesitant shrug. “I was in Minneapolis, the tattoo place was right there, so I did it. Figured if I didn’t you’d just keep bugging me about it.” 

She giggled when he nodded in agreement, the sound clear and beautiful, like the wind chimes on her porch. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the center of the tattoo, his lips just grazing her skin. The giggle turned to a sigh as she fell back onto the sofa, her arm thrown over her eyes.

Dean pushed her shirt up and off, his lips trailing after it. He ran his tongue over her lips and pushed her arm away from her face. “I would have gone with you,” he whispered, his thumb drifting in slow circles around the tattoo. 

“I know,” she said. “But I wanted to show you that I could do it, that I didn’t need you there.”

“I never doubted it,” he chuckled. “Never doubted you.”

Donna squirmed beneath him, her cheeks pink. “You’re just sayin’ that,” she protested. 

“Nope,” he replied. He splayed his hand over her ribs, covering the tattoo, his tongue pushing into her mouth so he could kiss her, taste her, feel her warmth. “I like where you decided to put it.” He brushed her hair off of her face and let his lips slide down the column of her throat.

“I wanted you to be the only one who’d see it,” she whispered, the blush spreading from her cheeks and down her neck to the tops of her shoulders.

Dean growled low in the back of his throat, the thought that she would do something like that causing an ache deep in his gut. He slid his arms around her waist, dragging her to the edge of the couch, his lips drifting up and down her stomach, and across her ribs, lingering on the tattoo, memorizing every loop and swirl. He hooked his fingers in the yoga pants she was wearing and slowly pulled them off, his lips never leaving her skin.

Donna sighed, laced her fingers with his, and cupped his chin in her hand, dragging him up her body, until his lips met hers. Her tongue slipped out of her mouth and slid across his lower lip. Dean’s hand tightened on her side and another growl left him as he moved her to lie beneath him, pushing her legs open with his knee, and pulling her arm above her head, her hand still in his. She pulled the back of his shirt up, her fingers dancing up his spine, her touch like a fire igniting his need for her.

He sat up, peeling the clothes from his body, watching her as she took off what was left of hers, a hunger for her raging through him, a hunger that was constantly gnawing at him, whether he was with her or not, a hunger he could barely appease even when they were together. He fell over her, pulling her breast into his mouth, and easing his hand between her legs.

Her back arched, her hips coming up to meet his hand as his fingers slipped inside of her, gently caressing her. He kissed her, the rhythm of his fingers matching the way his tongue moved in her mouth, a slow and gentle exploration of this woman who had gotten under his skin in the best possible way.

Dean got so lost in Donna, became so consumed with  _ her _ , that time seemed to get away from him, and it wasn’t until she was trembling from his touch and moaning his name, begging him to make love to her that he managed to shake himself out of whatever spell he’d fallen under. 

He kissed a line along her jaw as he pulled her leg around his waist and eased into her, both of them shuddering with the desire. Donna’s arms came around him, pulling him closer, deeper, turning her head to kiss him, a deep, probing kiss, a kiss filled with a million promises. 

Dean braced his foot against the floor and one hand on the arm of the couch, rocking forward, thrusting into Donna. She moaned, a sexy, breathy sound that ignited a spark inside him, urging him on. He slid his arm beneath her, lifting her so he could drive deeper into her, burying himself in her warmth. She clawed at him, her nails raking red lines down his back, her muscles tightening around him, begging for more, for harder, faster, more.

His breath was tearing in and out of his throat, sweat was beading on his brow, his need to satisfy her, to give her what she wanted pushing him to move faster, to drive deeper, until Donna was coming, his name a breathy curse on her lips. 

Dean’s fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her mouth to his, kissing her, his forehead pressed to hers, a bone-deep shudder rolling through him as he came, emptying himself inside her.

Afterwards, they laid crammed together on her couch, a familiar, comfortable spot for the two of them, Donna’s head on his arm, his fingers splayed across her ribs, circling the tattoo over and over. He was tired, but it was a good tired, the kind of tired that only seemed to come around once in a great while, the kind of tired that came after a successful hunt, saving the world, or making love to a good woman. The kind of tired he didn’t get to experience enough. He closed his eyes.

He smiled when Donna touched his face, caressed his cheek, her fingers drifting over his lips, his eyes, down the middle of his nose. His kissed the tips of her fingers when they settled on his lips again. He opened one eye to see her looking up at him.

“What?” he murmured.

“Just glad you’re here,” she smiled.

“Me too, sweetheart. Me, too.”


End file.
